


tango with wolves

by yellow_crayon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Sex, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Prostate Milking, The Author Regrets Everything, Xenophilia, bottom wolffe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_crayon/pseuds/yellow_crayon
Summary: “Facing me or on your knees, commander?” His Jedi asked, sounding a bit breathless.A hot bolt of arousal lanced through Wolffe at the gravelly words. He swallowed. It would probably be more comfortable for the general to remain on his back for the duration of their…activities.(Or Commander Wolffe helps his general with a problem.)
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 10
Kudos: 315





	tango with wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Lol, I've gone off the deep end with this quarantine. Started watching the TCW under a buddy's strong recommendation. 
> 
> I've arrived at the following conclusion: Wolffe is awesome. Plo Koon has a sexy voice. 
> 
> Have some alien porn. 
> 
> (There is some inherent power imbalance that comes with Plo Koon being Wolffe's general, but he's definitely not abusing the power in this fic. Just thought I'd mention that.)

“How long did you say it takes, General?”

He was in his blacks, purposefully stripped of armor. Like a prawn out of its shell. Wolffe had never felt exposed or vulnerable in front of Plo Koon before, but now—

The air felt heavy between them. Tight with tension. Plo’s expression was unreadable behind the antitox mask. He sat perfectly still, except for the minute tremor in his wrists. That brought up the sobering reminder of why Wolffe was here in his Jedi’s private quarters in the first place.

It didn’t matter how long the process took. He couldn’t let his general carry on like this. The Wolfpack were too far away from Plo’s home world and in the middle of a campaign. They couldn’t afford to head to Dorin for the hormone injections that would stave off the painful urges.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter, sir,” Wolffe bluffed, tearing off his shirt and crawling on top of the prone Jedi, “you’re suffering. I have to do what I can to help.”

Rough hands came up to cradle his hips. Plo’s grip was gentle. He always was. Wolffe’s general was probably the only Jedi in the Order that allowed their clone commander to boss and shove them around like this.

“Commander…” The word was a sigh, hissed through the respirator. Plo sounded sad.

“I want this,” Wolffe said, reaching mulishly for his brown robes.

“Wolffe,” The Jedi caught his wrists and held them, “in my currently state, the insemination process will take a...while.”

He stilled. “How long?”

“Perhaps up to an hour. We won’t be able to physically separate until it’s over,” Plo murmured, ducking his head in shame. “I cannot force you to endure such a—”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, sir,” Wolffe shut that thought down immediately. He cupped the side of the general’s face and felt Plo’s rumbling exhale against his palm. The Kel Dor leaned into his touch and Wolffe felt his chest tighten with affection.

“I trust you,” He said, feeling the talons twitch restlessly against his skin. It wasn't an explicit refusal, so Wolffe shrugged and parted the Jedi’s robes. He had never seen his general nude before. Plo’s skin was an odd leathery texture against his palms. There was a wet slit at base of his abdomen. The Jedi hunched his shoulders with a low moan when Wolffe traced the edges of the weird pocket and watched in amazement as the skin around it bulged outward at the contact. A pink appendage slithered out. Plo hissed and caught his hand before Wolffe could prod it some more.

“Facing me or on your knees, commander?” His Jedi asked, sounding a bit breathless.

A hot bolt of arousal lanced through Wolffe at the gravelly words. He swallowed. It would probably be more comfortable for the general to remain on his back for the duration of their…activities.

“Facing you,” He decided, shucking off his standard-issued pants. Plo made a soft clicking sound behind his mask.

“Yeah, I don’t have a little purse to store my man bits,” Wolffe said, cupping his half-hard cock with one hand. He felt an embarrassed flush spread down his bare chest at the Jedi’s confusion.

“You are beautiful, my Wolffe,” Plo said simply.

He gritted his teeth and moved to straddle his Jedi general. It was only going to be an hour. Wolffe had gone through worse situations — getting shot in the abdomen and letting one of their new medics dig around his insides without proper anesthesia. This was going to be a piece of cake compared to that.

Boy, was he fucking wrong.

* * *

“A-ah, fuck!”

Wolffe sunk his teeth into his knuckles, whole body jerking like a live wire as the second orgasm ripped through him. His insides felt like they were on fire. It wasn’t a painful sensation, more of an aching itch deep within that—

He bowed his head and sobbed as the appendages kept milking the pleasure from him.

“Wolffe, I am so sorry for causing you such pain—” Plo sounded so apologetic. He shook his head violently and managed to loosen his tight jaw from his bruised hand.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Wolffe gasped, eyes watering. Their pelvises were locked together. He couldn’t even pull away for a quick breather when it became too much. Plo wasn’t doing anything, not that Wolffe could tell. His cock, or the equivalence of it, seemed to have a mind of its own. The thing had slid into Wolffe’s ass without much trouble and had since doubled in size and was writhing in a way that—

His muscles clenched at another spike of pleasure. Wolffe’s cock was drooling angrily between them. He’d come twice in less than ten minutes and it was having trouble getting fully hard again in so little time.

“How can I help?” The Jedi pleaded, taking Wolffe’s sweaty face between dry palms. It was hard to focus on that soft voice. Wolffe’s head felt heavy, drunk from the endorphins.

The thing inside him suddenly picked up the pace. Wolffe buried his face in Plo’s chest, muffling the shocked gasps as it staccatoed against his swollen prostate. The muscles of his spread thighs were trembling like he was being electrocuted. Plo groaned, hips canting up and pinning Wolffe against him.

“Oh, Gods, general!” He managed to squeeze out, eyes rolling shut against the onslaught of his climax. Wolffe’s dick made a valiant effort to react, but not much came out. He shuddered, going limp in Plo’s arms. There was a shiny trail of moisture against the side of the general’s neck. Wolffe wasn’t sure if it was his drool or tears.

“My apologies, Wolffe,” Plo murmured, his clawed hand gently petting along Wolffe’s sweaty back and raising goosebumps in its wake, “but I must confess that your body feels divine.”

“Don’t apologize, sir,” He rasped, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment of reprieve from the overstimulation. “Too bad you’re a Jedi,” Wolffe slurred drunkenly. Plo was petting his damp hair now, the appendages in his ass rubbing lovingly along his inner walls and probing deeper into his gut, “you’d be sensational working in a brothel, general.”

Plo’s chest rumbled with his low laugh. “I usually have functional control over my lower half, commander. This embarrassment,” He cupped the left side of Wolffe’s asscheek, “only happens during the Kel Dor mating cycle.”

“Have you thought about having children?” Wolffe asked, tracing a swirling pattern on Plo’s bare shoulder. It looked like a constellation they’d passed through a few campaigns back.

“Once, yes,” His Jedi answered vaguely, pressing the side of his respirator against Wolffe’s sweaty forehead, “Not anymore.”

“Maybe after the war,” Wolffe suggested absently, breath hitching as Plo’s organs started properly thrusting into him again. He gritted his teeth and let out three short, sharp exhales, bracing himself for the next orgasm.

“Commander, what's wrong?” Plo’s concern penetrated the fog in his head a bit too late. The general had reached down and palmed his clenched abdomen. The hint of pressure pushed Wolffe over the edge again. He grunted, biting down on the scream and jerked hard.

“I’m good,” Wolffe gritted out between panting breaths once his vision cleared. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure you are alright?” His Jedi inquired, still sounding so guilty.

Wolffe laughed shakily, “Yeah, I’m fine. But at this rate, you’ll probably put a whole litter in me.”

He didn’t expect the general’s clawed hand to tighten possessively around his waist, a low growl ripping through the antitox mask. The appendages were fucking Wolffe with a vengeance now.

“Oh, fuck,” He sobbed, regretting the unintentional words and curling in on himself.

When Plo finally came ages later, Wolffe was a limp, exhausted mess on top of him. The Kel Dor’s seed felt nicely cold against his hot, flushed insides. Plo gasped like he was in pain. Wolffe had heard him make the same noise on the battlefield once. Wolffe was going to shoot himself in the head if he popped an inappropriate boner in a fight next time.

He was stuffed so full. Plo’s chest heaved beneath Wolffe’s palms.

“Feeling better, sir?” He asked, voice wrecked. The sated organs slowly slithered out of Wolffe’s abused ass. He shivered as warm come leaked out in its wake, soaking into the general’s bedding.

“Not really,” The Jedi murmured mournfully, “I am afraid that I have damaged our relationship beyond repair, commander.”

“Yeah,” Wolffe yawned, jaw cracking, “you’ve ruined me for anyone else, general.”

“There were others?” Plo asked, sounded a little put off by the idea despite his best attempt to remain neutral.

Wolffe rolled his eyes, “Not after this performance.”

He lifted himself upright with some difficulty and grimaced at the full pressure in his lower belly. The Jedi general watched him from behind the lenses of his mask, his hands still splayed possessively over Wolffe’s thighs.

“I gotta clean up,” He explained awkwardly.

“I was hoping to keep my release inside you for a bit longer, commander,” Plo said, using the tone that usually got Wolffe a little hot around the collar even when they were in the middle of enemy fire.

“Is this payback for the brothel comment?” Wolffe groaned, nuzzling close to the Kel Dor and feeling his Jedi run a fascinated palm over his flat stomach.

“Perhaps,” Plo answered distractedly. He curled his body around Wolffe, a soft contented sigh ruffling the short sweaty hairs along his temple.

“Sleep, Commander Wolffe. We have a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”


End file.
